Tokyo Undone

Chapter 1: Arrival, Aoyama Crossing, Aaryan Shah- Renegade

Seta asked the taxi driver to stop off a few blocks early at the cross-section of the busy Aoyama district, recoiling as the stifling heat slammed into her. Several Tokyo summers later, it hadn't gotten any easier. She took in a deep breath of muggy air and adjusted her jumpsuit, pulling the burning, gold necklace away from her skin. The faint scent of tobacco lingered on her fingers from the change the driver had offered in his neat, white, cotton gloves.

Glancing around she searched for bearings, picturing the map she'd glanced at earlier in her flat. Tonight, she'd be meeting her boss and clients for a Friday get-together. A nice change from seeing the usual faces. In reality, after a long week of relentless meetings she'd rather have been heading to a club where a favourite DJ was headlined to spin. But it would have to wait. Work was work and Mr. Moriyama expecting her.

She peered up at the road signs, waiting for some kind of epiphany. The pretty Japanese Kanji stared back with a mocking gaze. She scanned the area again, oblivious to the looks thrown in her direction. Being distracted allowed passers-by ample time to drink in her natural beauty like an Asahi beer on a humid summer's day.

This night better be worth it, she muttered.

Her lithe frame felt heavy in the suffocating warmth. She looked down at her heels, wishing she'd changed into them once she'd reached the restaurant. Wishing she'd asked the driver to drop her straight there. Wishing she was somewhere else, altogether. She shrugged and smiled. There'd have been no challenge in that. She liked to make things a little difficult. To see what the Universe would throw in her path when she deviated from plans.

Soon, she'd be welcomed by cool, manufactured air, she consoled herself. She'd never wanted a hit of that air-con ventilation more than now. Licking her parched lips, she eyed up four potential side streets. And waited. Ten seconds passed by. She counted silently. 16, 17, 18...19. Three office workers appeared from one of the narrow alleys. She smiled and began moving again.

Usually, she gave the mostly all male parties with a few token office ladies, or 'candy floss' as she likened them, a wide berth. Tonight was different. She recalled Mr. Moriyama's promise earlier in the afternoon.

"Seta, may I remind you of tonight's event? I know there will be people looking forward to meeting you."

"You're just trying to get me to come to the party, aren't you, Mr. Moriyama?" she had asked, lifting her eyebrows in mock suspiciousness.

"Well, yes, of course, your company is always a delight. But I do believe you will have a good time, there will be some interesting guests present."

"More interesting than you? Unlikely!" she had replied.

How did he manage to always do it, she wondered in half admiration, half despair. He had roped her into another client event. Again. She knew the drill by now. Conversation, food, over-drinking, awkward 'flirting'- her cue to leave- followed by karaoke and usually some kind of scandal the employees would be gossiping about come the following week. And for her part, Seta always slipped away before the atmosphere got rowdy. Thirty minutes before the men in the group used alcohol as an excuse to behave out of bounds.

She had a radar for that kind of thing. The moment between three to four drinks verging on one drink too many. No, thank you. She had far better ways to entertain herself on a Friday evening. But she liked Mr. Moriyama; letting him down was not an option. And so here she was, in an exclusive part of Tokyo, instead of partying it up with like-minded clubbers.

She inhaled the heavy air and separated the hair matted to the back of her ballerina neck. She'd need a haircut soon. For a second time, she looked down at her sex on legs attire, wishing she could rip it off. To the roving eye her outfit looked closer to nightclub gear than semi-formal work garb. Tight. Form fitting. Risqué. It would not come without its complications.